


Poison Candy

by cookie_full_of_arsenic



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Harley Quinn (Comics)
Genre: Cheating, F/F, Getting Together, Harley has a crush on Ivy, Humor, Joker has a squish on Batman, Obsession, Prank Wars, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-22
Updated: 2020-08-22
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:55:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26047627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cookie_full_of_arsenic/pseuds/cookie_full_of_arsenic
Summary: Joker pays more attention to his Batman than his bae, and Harley is feeling neglected. But then a certain red-headed eco-terrorist catches her attention and she decides to have some fun while Mr J is distracted. Obviously, things get out of hand.
Relationships: Joker (DCU)/Harleen Quinzel, Pamela Isley/Harleen Quinzel
Comments: 8
Kudos: 64





	Poison Candy

**Author's Note:**

> I was planning on writing another soft and sweet Harley/Ivy story, like "Swimming Lessons". But then this ridiculousness happened. 
> 
> This is definitely a Harley/Ivy story, but probably not the best read if you hate Harley/Joker. I've not portrayed it as an abusive relationship, just one that isn't working because they're both more interested in someone else.

Batsy, Batsy, Batsy.

Harley kinda thought of The Caped Crusader as Joker’s other woman. Then again, it wasn’t a perfect analogy because Mr J never bothered hiding his obsession. Dinner dates got cancelled because Batman had been sighted nearby and Joker just _had_ to go and mess with him. Perfectly nice days got ruined because the bat had thrown a wrench in one of Joker’s evil plans and put him in a furious mood. Sometimes he didn’t come to bed until three or four in the morning because he was up scheming about how to make Batman’s life as difficult as possible. It looked like this was going to be one of those nights.

“You coming to bed, Puddin’?”

Joker turned away from his workbench but didn’t take off his welding goggles. He seemed to be making some kind of bazooka.

“In an hour or two, maybe.”

“Aw, come on. We don’t have to go to sleep right away.”

Harley tried to drape herself seductively against the door frame but ended up bashing her elbow in the process. She cursed under her breath.

“Baby, I have a lot of work to do. And it’ll all be worth it in the end. Don’t you wanna see the look on Batman’s face when-”

“No, _you_ wanna see the look on Batman’s face. I don’t give a shit about the look on Batman’s face. I’m going to bed.”

She stormed off to the bedroom and flopped down face-first on the bed, feeling shitty. She’d even dressed up for him – a cute pink negligee and the world’s most uncomfortable lacy panties that were now firmly wedged in the crack of her ass. She took them off and threw them across the room in protest.

She briefly considered getting her vibrator, giving herself a good time and being unnecessarily loud about it. But, truthfully, she wasn’t even horny. She just wanted some motherfucking attention.

At least she had the TV for company. She flipped through the channels for a while, not settling on anything, until something caught her attention. The news anchor’s eyebrows were hallway up her forehead with shock as she read the headline.

“Melvin Fowler, the CEO of Big Belly Burger, was brutally murdered today by being fed into a meat grinder.”

Whoa. Nice work. Extra, but not too extra, with a clear kind of logic behind it.

“Prime suspect is the noted eco-terrorist Poison Ivy, who was seen fleeing the scene of the crime.”

A blurry photograph flashed up on the screen and, wow. Even in a shitty photograph, this bitch was striking. Long, red hair and emerald skin – she looked like Christmas morning.

Naturally, Harley did a google search. She spent the next hour admiring Poison Ivy’s work – slightly baffled by her principles but greatly amused by her methods, which were as ingenious as they were brutal. She also couldn’t help admiring the photos. The phrase “eco-terrorist” tended to conjure up images of camouflage print and baggy cargo pants, but Ivy’s outfits left nothing to the imagination.

She was so engrossed that she didn’t even notice Joker standing in the doorway until he cleared his throat loudly. Harley jumped, and almost dropped her phone. Joker looked from his startled girlfriend to her discarded underwear (which had ended up draped over a lamp) and raised an acid-green eyebrow.

“Have you been watching porn?”

“No! And I’m still mad at you by the way. I got all gussied up for nothing.”

“Baby, I’m sorry,” he purred. “But you know I get wrapped up in my work sometimes. Forgive me?”

It was a bullshit non-apology, but Harley was feeling fired-up, and not for a fight. So, on impulse, she said,

“I’ll forgive you if you go down on me right now.”

“You _were_ watching porn,” said Joker. But he seemed to think this was a good deal, so he clambered up onto the bed, bunched Harley’s negligee up around her waist and set about earning her forgiveness.

***

It was no big deal. Like Gramma always said, it doesn’t matter where you get your motor running as long as you park in the right garage. But over the days and weeks that followed, Harley found herself thinking about Poison Ivy a _lot_. And not just in a sexy way.

She couldn’t help but feel like she ought to introduce herself to that girl. She was always meaning to network more with other female supervillains, and here was someone who she obviously had a lot in common with. Super smart? Check. Scientific background? Check. Deep and abiding hatred of authority? Check. Ballsy fashion sense? Check. Perhaps they could team up on a few projects. Joker wouldn’t be too happy about that, but it would serve him right for putting his bat before his bae.

The only problem was, Ivy wasn’t exactly a sociable type. The only social media she had was a barely-maintained Facebook account, and Harley wasn’t expecting to run into her in Starbucks, either. There was really no casual way of introducing herself and since casual was out of the question, Harley decided to go for classy. 

This girl was obviously into nature and plants and shit, so a bouquet of flowers seemed like the best introductory gift. She spent way too long in her local florist, over-excited and over-analyzing every possible choice.

Red roses? No, they were too romantic. She had to keep this professional or Joker would kick up a stink.

Gerbera daisies? They didn’t seem like Ivy’s type of flower. They were sunny and simple, and Ivy was clearly neither of those things.

Were tulips basic, or were they an elegant classic?

In the end, she settled on a big bunch of irises. Then she drove the shop assistant crazy by getting him to write and re-write the little card about a dozen times. In the end, it read:

_Dear Ms Isley, aka Poison Ivy_

_I am a sincere fan of your work. I admire your creativity, flair and determination, and would love to get together some time to discuss a possible collaboration. If this interests you, my contact details are on the back of the card._

_Yours,_

_Harleen Quinzel, aka Harley Quinn_

Maybe, if Harley had done the sensible thing and let the florist deliver the bouquet, things would have turned out differently. But when did Harley ever do the sensible thing? She had the address of Ivy’s apartment (that had taken a lot of digging and a little bribery) and there was nothing waiting for her at home but an inattentive boyfriend and some leftover Chinese takeout for lunch. She decided to deliver the flowers herself.

It was a pretty long walk, but the payoff was worth it. Because, holy hell, Ivy was not subtle at all. Her apartment was absolutely covered in twisting vines and lush, green leaves. Purple flowers bloomed here and there, huge and extravagant. If this was supposed to be a secret lair, it was useless. But as a home, it was perfect. Fuck blending in and tastefully decorating in neutral tones and all the other bullshit that adults were supposed to do. Harley was pleased that Ivy had no time for it either. She really liked this girl a lot.

That was why Harley broke into her apartment. She tucked the bouquet inside her top, then carefully shimmied up the drainpipe. Once she’d got up to Ivy’s floor, she used the thickest vines that snaked across the building to make her way over to a window that Ivy had carelessly left open a crack. She tumbled through it, and neither she nor the bouquet were much the worse for wear.

For a moment, she just stood there, tingling with adrenaline. The apartment was silent and empty, but if Ivy walked through her front door right now, what would happen? A fight, probably. You can’t break into someone’s home and expect them to be okay with it, even if you bring flowers.

She took the bouquet into the kitchen and started opening cupboards, looking for a vase to arrange the flowers in. No sign of any vases, but there was a large glass that ought to do the trick. She reached up to grab it and knocked a small plate to the floor. It shattered.

Shit.

She picked up a few of the larger pieces and cut her finger, which began to bleed.

Double shit.

She looked around desperately for a dustpan and brush, leaving smears of blood on Ivy’s cupboards.

Triple shit.

She made herself a makeshift bandage out of a paper towel, finally found a dustpan and brush, cleaned up the broken plate and threw it in the trash, cleaned up all the blood, took the large glass down from the cupboard (very carefully), filled it with water and arranged the irises in it. There. Job done. She helped herself to one of Ivy’s granola bars, feeling like she’d earned it.

Now that she’d done what she came here to do, she ought to go home before anything else could go wrong. She didn’t want to, though. Ivy’s apartment was nice, and there was a faint scent in the air that Harley liked. Something green and woody. Kind of like a pine forest, but not the kind of pine forest you can smell in air fresheners and cleaning products. A real one, full of life and death. Harley thought about having a snoop around – she couldn’t help but wonder what Ivy’s bedroom was like – but decided against it. It was time to go home.

***

For the next few days, Harley was jittery. She checked her email a bazillion times a day and her stomach flipped any time her phone made a noise. She kept fantasizing about where she would take Ivy if she agreed to meet up. A cute little independent café? Or maybe a cocktail bar. God, she was crushing like a teenager. If Joker noticed anything odd in her behavior (which Harley doubted), he didn’t say anything about it.

On a Saturday morning, Harley stumbled sleepily into the kitchen. Her eyes were barely open, which was perfectly normal before coffee. So, at first, she thought it was a bunch of pale flowers on the counter – maybe a surprise gift from Mr J. When she saw what it actually was, her jaw hit the floor.

It was a large, expensive-looking crystal vase, filled with hands. Severed, human hands. Well, of course they were human hands. Other animals didn’t have hands, they had paws. One of the hands had a card placed carefully between its fingers, so Harley tiptoed over to the ghoulish arrangement, half expecting the creepy things to come to life and start grabbing her.

She snatched the card. It read,

_Dear Ms Quinzel, aka Harley Quinn,_

_Thank you for all the dead, severed flowers. In the spirit of reciprocity, here are some dead, severed, human hands. Go eat dirt._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Ivy_

_P.S. You owe me a plate._

A bubble of unhinged laughter floated up through Harley’s chest and burst out of her mouth. Of course the hand-flowers were from Ivy. Joker never surprised her like that anymore. God, the woman was a _psycho._ And, reading between the lines, Harley was pretty sure that she wanted to play.

***

Over the next few weeks, things got wildly out of hand. Harley bought a beautiful plate with a pattern of pink roses, and put it in a box. Then she filled up the box with soil and earthworms, included a note that said,

_No, YOU eat dirt._

_Call me!_

and sent it to Ivy’s apartment.

Ivy could have done the mature thing and ignored this. But if she’d done that, she wouldn’t be the girl Harley was utterly obsessed with. What she did instead was make Joker’s head explode.

Well, sort of. Harley went down to her boyfriend’s laboratory one afternoon. He was probably working but whatever, she was feeling frisky. She was feeling frisky a lot these days. Joker was sat at his workbench, and the back of his head looked exactly the same as it always did. But then it blew up.

Harley shrieked as globs of red flew everywhere, including onto her face. But then she noticed a sickly scent in the air, and wiped a little of the stuff off her face. She sniffed it, then gave it a very cautious lick. Strawberry jam. Definitely organic.

Upon closer inspection, Joker’s body was actually a kind of posable mannequin in a Joker-ish purple suit. The suit had a note pinned to it that read,

_Does your boyfriend know you’re flirting with me?_

Oh, it was SO ON! Harley was going to prank that bitch like she’d never been pranked before, and leave a note that read

_I’m not flirting, hot stuff, I want us to work together!_

The prank took several weeks to plan, and to gather all the necessary equipment together. Then Harley filled a backpack with mousetraps, lawn fertiliser, a disposable camera and a can of Pringles, and schlepped it all to Ivy’s apartment.

She knew Ivy wasn’t home because she’d just seen her on the news, protesting outside ACE Chemicals. Well, “protesting” might not be the right word for it. She had a guy in a lab coat all wrapped up in her vines, dangling fifty feet in the air, and was using him as leverage to demand to speak to the CEO. The point was, she was otherwise engaged and wouldn’t be home for a while.

Unfortunately, she had learnt from her mistakes and hadn’t left any windows open, so Harley had to pick the lock to get inside the building. She’d been picking locks since she was eleven but still, it wasn’t really her style. Climbing up buildings and sneaking through windows, that was her style. Locks were just fiddly and annoying.

Once inside, she took the elevator up to the fourth floor and found Ivy’s door with ease. It was the one that had a poster on it saying “Humans are the virus”. Shit, Harley would have to have a word with Ivy about her species-ism once they were working together.

A little more lock-picking, and Harley was inside. Even though she’d only been there once before, the place seemed a lot more familiar now. Maybe because she was a lot more familiar with Ivy. She plopped down on the couch in the living room, tipped the contents of her backpack on the floor, and got to work.

***

Flash bombs and booby traps were two of her favorite things in the whole world – she could hyper-focus on them like a mother-fucker. Pranking Ivy was apparently becoming one of her favorite things in the whole world too. So she became so absorbed in her work that she didn’t hear the key scraping in the lock or Ivy’s front door being pushed open.

“What the hell?”

Harley’s head snapped up and she saw Ivy in person for the first time. She was a little unprepared for how beautiful she looked, and a lot unprepared for how angry she looked.

Then shit started happening very quickly.

Ivy rushed at Harley but stepped in a mousetrap and grunted – with annoyance or pain, Harley wasn’t sure. Harley leapt behind the couch, but had the presence of mind to grab a couple of potential weapons before doing so. Behind the couch, she realized these potential weapons were a handful of lawn fertilizer and the lid of a Pringles can, so she couldn’t congratulate herself too much.

“So, err, did you think at all about collaborating with me?” she called out to Ivy, because now seemed as good a time as any to talk shop.

“For fuck’s sake,” said Ivy, in the strained voice of someone trying to remove a mousetrap from her foot. “Why would I do that?

“Because we’d be awesome together! We have fun, right?”

Harley heard Ivy approaching the couch and worried she was in for a pummeling, so she popped up and threw the handful of lawn fertilizer at her. This had the expected effect of pissing her off and the unexpected effect of causing dark green vines to shoot out from her body. Harley ran from those grasping vines into the kitchen, and Ivy followed.

“In case you hadn’t noticed, my work actually has a purpose. I go after people who are killing the Earth. You just rob banks for fun. Or money.”

“Hey, I could totally have a social conscience if I tried,” said Harley, taking a bread knife from a knife block and swiping it at one of Ivy’s vines that was getting dangerously close.

“You’d be a liability.”

“I’d be an asset. Just think about it, hm? It’s not fair if you don’t,” Harley hopped up onto the window ledge and pushed open the window. “’Cause I think about _you_ all the time.”

Harley should’ve gone out the window on that line. Instead, she let that beautiful, dangerous creature get closer. And when she was close enough, Harley grabbed her by the back of the neck and kissed her.

It was a brief kiss, but Harley packed a lot of action into those one-and-a-half seconds. Ivy kissed back, angrily. Harley grinned, then slipped out of the window to safety, grabbing onto the vines that grew on the outside of Ivy’s apartment and climbing down and across, then sliding down the drainpipe with reckless abandon.

When her feet hit solid ground, she stumbled. That was unusual, but hey, she had every right to be giddy. She’d just kissed a gorgeous, psychotic redhead. She ran in the direction of home, wondering why her muscles seemed a little stiffer than usual. She licked her lips and they tasted sweet – maybe Ivy had been wearing flavored lip gloss.

By the time she was halfway home, Harley knew for sure that something was wrong. She was dizzy and uncoordinated and her eyelids were heavy.

Holy hell, that bitch’s lips were poison candy. 

***

By the time Harley woke up, it was already dark outside. She was in bed, or _on_ bed, at least. Joker was staring down at her, and he looked pissed.

“Were you drugged?” he said, and those words sounded way less worried and way more angry than they ought to.

“Huh?”

“Did she or he or they or whatever the fuck spike your drink?”

“Who?”

“The person you were making out with. You have lipstick all over your face.”

Harley propped herself up against the pillows, feeling disoriented and guilty.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Oh, you’re _sorry_?!” Joker stood at the foot of the bed, hands on hips, fuming. “Who the hell was it?”

“Poison Ivy.”

“What?!”

“I never meant for it to happen! I swear!”

“You’re a cheat. A dirty, rotten cheat.”

The first prickles of anger flared up beneath Harley’s skin.

“There’s no need for name-calling, okay? It was just a kiss. And maybe I’d never have gone anywhere near her if I actually had a boyfriend who gave a shit about me.”

“So this is my fault? HA HA HA HA, that’s hilarious.”

Harley winced at his laughter – she wasn’t used to being on the receiving end of it – but she persevered, anyway.

“I’m serious, okay? I don’t know what the hell’s going on with me and Ivy but I do know it wouldn’t have happened if you didn’t care about your dumbass feud with Batman ten times more than you care about me.”

“Ridiculous.”

“How is me crushing on Ivy any different than you obsessing over Batman?”

“Because I never _kissed_ him!”

“But you _want_ to, though.”

If Harley ever had a shot at the moral high ground, she threw it away decisively by getting up on her knees and bouncing on the mattress, singing “Joker and Batman, sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G!” Joker closed his eyes and massaged his temples, looking so much like an adult dealing with a toddler’s temper tantrum that Harley actually lost her temper and threw a pillow at him.

That got his attention. Joker caught the pillow after it hit him in the face, and swung it at Harley. She was still a little woozy from Ivy’s poison and didn’t duck in time. She squeaked in surprise, considered launching another pillow at him, then launched herself instead. He caught her – an arm around her waist and a hand on her butt as she wrapped her legs around his hips. They kissed like it was the last time.

***

After they were done, everything felt different. Calmer. Lighter. Joker spooned her, trailing a hand idly over her naked stomach, making patterns with his fingertips.

“I think about her a lot,” Harley admitted. “I can’t help it. She’s on my mind all day long.”

“Mm-hm,” said Joker, sounding maybe a little sad.

“Do you think about him a lot?”

“All the time.”

“D’you ever think about doing this with him?”

“Spooning?”

“Fucking.”

“No.”

She’d asked without malice, and he’d answered her honestly. But he hadn’t quite finished answering – after all these years, Harley could tell – so she waited.

“Sometimes I think about spending the night with him.”

“Yeah?”

“Like, getting dinner together. I’m not talking about romance and candlelight, just … pizza, or something. Food and conversation. He’d take his fucking cowl off and I’d wash all the crap off my face and we’d just be two people, getting to know each other. And we’d watch a movie together and I’d see what parts make him laugh … I want to know what his laugh sounds like. Maybe we’d even fall asleep together. And then, in the morning he’d put his cowl on and I’d put my face on and we’d carry on fighting each other until one or both of us is dead. But it’d be different, because we’d know each other. Really know each other.”

Harley turned around to face Joker. “That’s beautiful,” she said, and she meant it.

When Joker woke up the next morning, Harley was gone. On the bedside table was a printed-out 25% off coupon for Paparelli’s Pizza, and a hastily scrawled note that read,

Go get your man, Puddin’.

***

Lying there with Mr J in a post-coital haze, it had all become very clear. Harley had known what she had to do to prove herself to Ivy, and had known that she wanted to do that more than anything else. Actually doing it had been a little more challenging.

Now, it was 24 hours later and Harley was in Ivy’s apartment, injured and tired and waiting for her to come home. Drops of blood stained the carpet, like a trail of rose petals leading to Ivy’s bed, where Harley sat and dressed the wound on her left leg using stuff “borrowed” from Ivy’s first aid kit. Next to the bedroom door there was a dinner tray, and on the dinner tray was the severed head of the CEO of Ace Chemicals.

She heard Ivy’s front door opening, and then footsteps. Soft, slow, footsteps. Why didn’t she hurry up? Harley’s racing, aching heart couldn’t take much more of this. When Ivy appeared in the bedroom doorway, Harley pointed at the head of the unfortunate CEO before she had a chance to get angry or vine-y at the unexpected intrusion.

Ivy looked from Harley to the head, and a small, Mona Lisa-worthy smile graced her lips.

“For you, baby,” said Harley, with a much broader smile. “And for the Earth, I guess. But mostly for you.”

“I was planning on drowning him in a vat of his own pesticides, but I kinda like this. Do you know how many hunting trophies this guy had?”

“Nope.”

“About a dozen. Let’s see how he likes being mounted on someone’s wall.”

Ivy took the tray out of the room, and Harley called after her “You might wanna put that in the freezer for now!”

When Ivy returned, she looked at Harley with a tenderness that Harley had never seen on her face before – only imagined.

“You’re hurt,” she said, gesturing to Harley’s inexpertly patched-up leg.

“I’m okay.”

“It needs a bandage.”

Ivy got up on the bed and skillfully bandaged the wound. Her fingers were soft and cool.

“Does this mean we’re on the same team now?” said Harley, knowing that the hope was practically shining out of her face but unable to stop it.

“If you still want to be,” said Ivy, maybe a little shyly.

“I do.”

“Good.”

“Hey, um, are you still wearing that knock-em-out lipstick?”

“No. Why do you ask?”

That faux-innocent look on Ivy’s face was practically begging for trouble. But really, the sex was almost an afterthought. They were both tired, and Harley wasn’t exactly in peak condition, and they had years ahead of them to fill with as much mind-blowing sex as they wanted. So when they finally undressed each other, they did it like two middle-aged wives who’d been loving each other for decades. They made each other come without any difficulty or drama, then lay there luxuriating in the feel of each other’s skin.

Harley was enjoying running her fingers through Ivy’s hair (which felt exactly as it looked – like a puddle of scarlet silk) when the not-too distant sound of an explosion rang through the air.

“Does this mean we have to get up?” said Harley, hoping it didn’t.

“We should at least take a look out the window.”

Ivy led Harley to the window, twining their fingers together. Looking out, Harley saw a cloud of purple-ish smoke emanating from the corner of Park Street and Main Street, where Paparelli’s Pizza was. Huh. Apparently Mr J’s dinner date with Batman was going well.


End file.
